


La Venerazione

by buckywlnchester



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode AU: s03e02 Primavera, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckywlnchester/pseuds/buckywlnchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal meet in the cathedral where Hannibal left Will his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Venerazione

**Author's Note:**

> This mostly follows canon up until 3.02 and then diverges from there. Not beta'd.

The light fractures through the motley colored glass. Pumpkin oranges and sky blues refract luminous on the marbled flooring. The golden browns and brilliant reds casting mother Mary in full glow of the midday sun. The stale air is disturbed by the sudden opening of a door somewhere towards the back of the cathedral. He’s sat in a pew at the front, wondering if he’s wasted his time by coming. Wondering if Hannibal will even show up. It’s been a while since he’s been in a church and even longer since he’s prayed, he thinks. He could use a little prayer, a little false encouragement. He starts the prayer slowly, barely uttered words falling from his lips.

“Our father who art in heaven, hollowed be thy name.” The scrape of a chair being pulled along granite breaks his concentration. He can’t remember any more of the prayer. He isn’t really sure that it matters much anyways. He leans forward in his seat, forearms resting on the dark stained pew in front of him as he lifts his eyes to the crucifixion mounted above the alter. The gilded Christ is not looking down at him, its head turned in a sign of submission to God. Eyes downcast in its eternal suffering, golden body sagging against the cross it will never be free from. He too wonders if he will ever be free from Hannibal. Or perhaps, like Christ, he will forever be weighted down with sin under the gaze of his god. The Baroque cathedral is stifling, but it was the only safe place to meet. The only place in the whole city where Hannibal could be recognized and no one would do a thing. Where even the polizia would hesitate before disturbing the peace and prayer of worshipers, even if it is someone like Hannibal.

He’s about to give up on Hannibal, about to call it quits and head back to the hotel when he hears that footfall he knowns so intimately coming towards him down some back hallway. Instinctively he sits up tall, suddenly conscious of his worn down black slacks and wrinkled button up. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that he’s here for one thing and one thing only, but the thought is still there.

“Well, Will, it is rather pleasant to see you again. I was unsure if you would show,” Hannibal says somewhere behind him, his accented English so familiar even after all this time. Will’s shoulders tense, gaze straight ahead as he tries to keep his composure, tries to fight the memories that emerge against his will. He can feel Hannibal beside him, the light from the colorful Virgin Mary blocked from warming his face. He steels himself against Hannibal’s overwhelming presence.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d come either,” he says, resolutely staring at the Baroque Christ. He feels Hannibal sit down next to him and spares a glance in his direction, no longer able to resist. He looks much the same, immaculate grey pinstriped three piece pleated and pressed to perfection. His hair is longer, more of the gray peeking through than he remembers.  He looks immaculate, ethereal, just like Will remembers. He feels his heart speed up as his eyes linger over the contours of Hannibal’s face. He spares a glance up and locks eyes with Hannibal’s maroon gaze, much softer than he had anticipated.

“I missed you,” Will blurts out in a rushed whisper. It’s the only thing he can think to say, the only thing that feels true.

“I missed you too, Will.” Hannibal’s mask slips just then, a soft, almost reverent look substantiating just how true the statement is. “You look tired, Will. Do nightmares still plague your sleep?”

“I don’t think they’ll ever stop,” he admits. _They stopped when I was with you_ , he wants to say, but thinks better of it. He came here with no intent but hoped he would find himself willing to end this obsession, to cut the ties that bind him to Hannibal. But the longer he sits here, the more he stares at the man he knows so well, he isn’t sure if that’s what he wants anymore.

“You knew to find me here,” Hannibal says. Hannibal breaks eye contact first, favoring instead to travel the planes of Will’s shoulders and chest, gaze coming up to rest on his lips.

“Yes,” Will breathes.

“Do you know how you knew to find me here,” Hannibal inquires, eyes full of mirth and admiration, lips just barely twitching upwards in amusement.

“Because I know you, Hannibal. I . . .  I know you.”

“I suppose you do.” Hannibal lets his hand come to rest on Will’s thigh and Will can’t help but relax under the touch. The firm grip of Hannibal’s hand that he knows so well in so many different ways is soothing, will always be soothing, despite all the violence that that hand has brought forth.

“Why are you here, Will? How will this conversation end?” Will rests his hand on top of Hannibal’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles as he takes the first deep breath since Hannibal walked in the cathedral.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” Hannibal turns his palm face up, intertwining his fingers with Will’s. It takes everything in Will to stay still, to not bring Hannibal’s hand to his mouth and kiss those slender, artistic fingers he knows so well.

“Did you come with the intent to turn me in, or with the intent to run away with me?”

“I came with the intent to decide when I saw you. I figured I’d know what I wanted by then.”

“But?”

“You left me your heart,” Will squeezes Hannibal’s hand a little tighter, testing to see if this is real and not another dream about to be ripped from him by the ruthless dawn. “Here, when I first got to Italy, you left me your heart. How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t,” Hannibal says, Will’s eyes landing on the mosaic tiled floor in front of the altar. The police tape has been taken down, but Will can still see his Valentine clearly. “I hoped you were here. And if you were not, I had hoped you would see, you would understand, and you would come.”

“I understand,” Will whispers, afraid that anything louder will break the calm that has settled over them. He turns towards Hannibal, resting his forehead on Hannibal’s shoulder. “I understand.”

“Come home with me, Will,” Hannibal says nestling his chin in Will’s curls.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

The apartment is lavish, white and golden curtains shimmering in the fading daylight, maroon stone flooring slick underfoot. The dust floats in the warm light from the windows, the fresh breeze making it easier to breathe. Will sits on the sofa in the lounge, studiously avoiding the dining room and kitchen for fear of what memories will be dredged up.

He stands, walking over to the bookshelves lining the walls. He runs his fingers over their spines, reminiscent of his sessions with Hannibal back in Baltimore, when he’d do anything to avoid Hannibal’s prying questions. He recognizes a few volumes, a few in Italian and one in French, and wonders if they’re copies or the same ones he’d reverently felt all those months ago. The golden lettering feels familiar underhand as he pulls out a well-worn copy of _La Vita Nuova_ , unable to suppress a laugh at the thought that he has essentially become Hannibal’s Beatrice, love poems crafted through corpses instead of words.

Hannibal returns to the lounge with two glasses and a bottle of wine. Will can’t help but be enamored by the familiar sight. He wants to tell Hannibal he’ll stay. Wants to tell him all the feelings he has kept pent up since he realized what they meant before everything went to hell.

“Where’s Bedelia?” he asks instead.

“I’m not sure. Out, I suppose.”

“You two are married,” Will points out, returning the _La Vita Nuova_ to the shelf to avoid Hannibal’s gaze.

“Yes, I suppose technically we are. Why, Will? Do you feel threatened?” Will walks to the yellow paisley print sofa and sits next to Hannibal, taking a sip of the dry white wine set in front of him.

“I think jealous would be a more accurate descriptor.” Hannibal’s eyes narrow with mirth.

“You needn’t be jealous, my dear Will. You know how completely you enamor me.” Will sets his wine glass down on the table and turns to fully face Hannibal.

“Then why didn’t you leave, Hannibal? I told you to leave. I could have followed you after. Abigail and I . . . we could have . . . why?” Hannibal faces Will in suit, slowly raising a hand to rest on the side of Will’s face.

“You betrayed me, Will. I didn’t have a choice.”

“If you felt I betrayed you, than why didn’t you just kill me? Why did you let me live?” Will feels Hannibal go still next to him, the hand caressing his face tenses. Hannibal’s mask falls completely, his perfect composure replaced with a look Will has never before seen on him, a pitiful mix between despair and anger.

“Because I can’t. The world without you in it is not a world I hope to ever see.” At the admission, Hannibal suddenly gets up, and heads back toward the kitchen. Will leans back against the sofa and closes his eyes, thinks back to that night in Hannibal’s kitchen. That night he held Abigail until he blacked out from the blood loss. How he woke up wishing he were dead. He can’t fault Hannibal for experiencing something so human, but he wishes he could.

 

***

 

It’s dark by the time Hannibal returns to the lounge with bowls full of deliciously sweet smelling soup. Will hesitates before grabbing the bowl Hannibal hands to him and is certain Hannibal notices.

“A simple gingered sweet potato and coconut soup. Vegetarian. I thought it would make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Will replies taking the silver spoon offered to him. He takes a sip and the autumnal flavors burst on his tongue. It’s perfect, as always. They eat in relative silence, not quite uncomfortable but far from the easy silences they used to enjoy together. Far from the nights spent in front of Hannibal’s crackling fireplace where they would simply enjoy one another’s presence. Will finishes his bowl and leans back, eyes mesmerized by the ornate patterns drawn onto the ceiling, a welcome distraction to his swirling mind.  

“What will happen to Bedelia?” He’s practically made up his mind, did in the cathedral, but he needs to know exactly what he’s getting himself into.

“I image she will go back to the states. She’s been dying to be rid of my company since we got here.” Hannibal doesn’t seem at all offended by that, more amused than anything. Will gets up and draws the curtain from the window, gazing out onto the dimly lit streets of Florence. The streets below are relatively empty, the chilled night air not suitable for comfortable walking.

“Will we stay here?” He doesn’t turn to see Hannibal’s response to the question, dead set on hoping he hasn’t been so obvious that all he would see is amusement. He imagines instead the look of warmth he’d seen in the cathedral after he’d agreed to come home with Hannibal. The look of love and admiration that tingles up his spine in the most delicious way possible.

“I’ve left quiet a messy trail here, it would not be wise. Plus, Jack and the FBI know you’re here. I was thinking Morocco.” Hannibal moves from his position on the couch in favor of standing behind Will. He wraps his arms around Will’s waist, chin coming to rest on his shoulder. Will can feel Hannibal breath in his scent and knows he was truly missed in return, that this isn’t a one sided obsession on his part.

“I always did prefer warmer climates. Not one much for winter. Morocco sounds nice,” Will says as he turns in Hannibal’s embrace to fully face him. He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck, content to rub his cheek along Hannibal’s rigid jaw line. Content to just be with Hannibal after all these months.

“Tell me Will, would you ever say to me ‘Stop. If you loved me, you’d stop?’” Will brushes his lips along Hannibal’s, reveling in the feeling he had missed so much in those months they were separated. He gives in to the feeling, pressing his lips firmly against Hannibal’s, drinking in the sighs that escape those lips. The feeling, the taste, it’s all so familiar, all so right as Will parts his lips softly to take in more of Hannibal. He nips at Hannibal’s lower lip and pulls away, resting his forehead against Hannibal’s, unable to deny his love any longer. He pecks Hannibal’s lips once, twice, before opening his eyes and stares reverently at Hannibal so that he knows Hannibal will never once doubt his words.

“Not in a thousand years.”

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me about the finale over at [my tumblr](http://cptnbuckybarnes.tumblr.com)


End file.
